Web of Time
by Hana-chan
Summary: AU, Yaoi, 1x4, 3x2, 5xOC. A year has passed since the battle of Mariemaia and the pilots have been living in peace until the arrival of demon warriors who are searching for the Five Princes. . .
1. Default Chapter

Title: Web of Time 1/?  
By Hana-chan  
Email: gohana_chan@yahoo.ca  
Category: AU, yaoi, angst, occasional lemon  
Pairings: 1x4 , 2x3x2 , 5xOC   
Ratings: Varies. This part is R for violence  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Gundam Wing. This is for fun, not profit, so don't sue me. The story, and any characters that do not belong to GW belong to me.  
  
thoughts::telepathy::*** scene change  
  
Web of Time   
Chapter 1  
  
Wufei sat on the cliff ledge, mist from the waterfall dampening his hair and clothing as he gazed unseeing at the forest before him.  
  
"Nataku," he sighed. "I miss you." Crossing his arms over his bent knees, he leaned his chin on his white silk sleeves. Images from the past danced through his mind. Images of his first gundam standing in the water surrounded by mist, sitting in the forest, lying in a cargo bay. Altron as he first saw her on the moon; as he last saw her when he ended her existence. He had spent so many hours at the feet of Nataku, meditating, praying, gazing upwards, in search of answers.   
  
Another soft sigh escaped his lips. He wished he had Nataku here now because he needed guidance.  
  
Closing his eyes, he let his mind wander. Images of Sally and the Preventers whirled and blended with those of the gundams, Treize, Mariemaia, his fellow pilots. It was a blend of happiness and hopelessness. He didn't try to focus on any one image, content to let his subconscious choose one for him.   
  
The faces of his fellow pilots became more clear. Duo laughing triumphantly as the mangled moble suit he'd been repairing moved. Heero smiling slightly as he typed on his laptop on a park bench. Trowa in costume doing aerobatic flips on the back of a trotting white horse. Quatre sleeping with his head pillowed on his arms, hidden behind a stack of paperwork on his desk. The colours inverted, spinning into a whirlpool of blues, greys and whites before resolving into one image.  
  
Meiran.  
  
Wufei gasped, crushing his eyes closed to hold back the tears that suddenly threatened him. Meiran. He could see images of her face clearly - the fire in her eyes, her inner strength, the arrogance and pride, her beauty, the peace in her expression as she died in his arms. That last image, the one of peace, was the one that lingered in his mind. She had fought for justice, but had found peace in saving a field of flowers, and the knowledge that he, her husband, found her to be strong.  
  
It was the one thing he'd never been able to do. She had proven herself worthy of his love, but he'd never proven himself worthy of hers. Thinking back over the past four years since she'd died he could see his futile struggle to prove his worth. He'd fought for her justice, he'd fought for her spirit, he'd fought for her approval, he'd fought for peace.  
  
He'd achieved none of it.  
  
The image of Meiran in his mind changed from peaceful to irritated, stubborn fire igniting. He could almost hear her calling him a weak baka for thinking this way. The images of the other pilots appeared around her as if to say 'what about us', and Wufei suddenly sighed in understanding. He may not be able to achieve the peace through proving himself to his wife, but perhaps he could achieve some measure of peace through his fellow pilots - no his friends.  
  
Sighing again, he examined the mental picture of his wife. I wish you were here, Meiran, Nataku, he thought wistfully. I miss you.   
  
Squaring his shoulders, the young man ran a hand over his face and opened his eyes, surprised to find that his face was wet with tears. It had been a long time since he had last cried.   
  
Looking out over his haven he smiled as the late afternoon sun glittered brightly on the waterfall, creating a rainbow in the mist. Wufei noticed for the first time that the sounds of bird song filled the clearing, and down by the pool several deer grazed quietly. The close presence of nature was one of the things that had drawn him to this secluded spot during the war, but, in his preoccupation, he hadn't noticed it this trip until now. His smile broadened into a soft grin, and he slicked his loose hair back behind his ears. The Meiran as he'd last seen her would have loved this place as he did.   
  
"I love you Meiran, Nataku," he whispered wistfully. His smile was gone, but his face had lost a measure of its hardness.   
  
Reaching for his sword, the Chinese teen was surprised to find it wasn't there. Stupid baka, he thought to himself. I must have forgotten it in the cave. Shaking his head he slowly stood, rearranging his hair once again. If it had still been a time of war, he'd probably be dead right now for his carelessness. Shrugging he stepped towards to the edge and, stooping gracefully to get a handhold, he swung his legs over and began to climb to the base of the cliff. He dropped the last few feet to the ground, damp white clothing fluttering about him.   
  
The deer had moved on and sighed in contentment. Something was still missing from his life, but it wasn't as all-consuming now. What was the phrase in that book of Maxwell's? he mused. Ah, right. 'To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under Heaven.' Perhaps it is finally my time, my season.   
  
Walking up to the falls, he stepped into a deeper shadow beside them, into a narrow tunnel in the rock. It was wide enough to give him enough freedom to swing his sword, but not enough for someone to get past him if he were to stand his ground. It was also low enough that he could almost stand at his full height, which wasn't much as he'd only grown a few inches since the war. The tunnel would be inconvenient for anyone taller than five and a half feet tall for they would have to stoop to enter. Smiling slightly he walked through the twisting tunnel as it took a sharp jog to the left and another to the right before opening into a much larger area.  
  
The main cave itself was one of Wufei's favorite places. The kerosene lantern he'd lit earlier still burned brightly at the back of the room where it hung from a peg in the wall, illuminating the uneven circle of the floor. The domed ceiling arched twenty feet above him, while the floor itself was approximately ten feet in diameter. To his left was a plastic coated metal trunk that held his spare clothing, bedding, cot, and other necessary household items such as soap that he wanted to keep from the hungry mouths of rodents. To his right was another plastic coated trunk filled with cooking essentials including cooking and eating utensils, and, when he spent a prolonged period of time here, food as well. There was also a large water barrel that was currently empty.   
  
The back of the cave was where he'd located his 'kitchen'. There was a fairly large crack in the back wall that lead almost vertically up to the top of the cliff. He used it as a natural chimney for his cook fire, the dense foliage above the upper opening dispersing the smoke to keep his location secret. The chimney could also be used as an escape route if necessary, though the climber would be forced to inch his way slowly and carefully to the top. All in all, it made for an excellent safehouse or peaceful retreat from the world.  
  
Sighing, he glanced at the cave fondly. He'd spent a month here during the war, and had used it as a safehouse on numerous other occasions. After the war he'd used it as a place to meditate and retreat from the world. He hadn't been here for months though - not since he'd destroyed Nataku. Closing his eyes, he recalled then dismissed the images of his gundam. She had been more than just a mobile suit to him, and he still felt guilty for destroying her.   
  
The pilot shook his head and chuckled when he realized how often he'd been doing that lately; that and sighing. I am going to have to find some other way to silently express myself, he thought in amusement. Making his way to the 'bedroom', Wufei picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulders before picking up his sword. Carefully he drew it from its scabbard, curved blade glinting in the lantern light. The blade had been in his family for generations, and was now one of the few things left of the once proud Dragon Clan. Resheathing the sword, he buckled the swordbelt around his waist, hand resting on the hilt, before walking towards the lantern. Taking one last look around the cave he turned the light off and quickly made his way to the tunnel entrance where a vague gray glow could barely be seen.   
  
The Gundam pilot winced slightly in the sunlight, breeze playing teasingly with his now dry hair. I should have tied it back again, he thought. In some way though, he was glad to have it tangling in his face even as it irritated him, because he hadn't worn it loose since his wife had died. He stopped himself before he could sigh, and smiled slightly. It was time to get back to his life.  
  
Walking silently out of habit, the young man made his way towards the forest, rippling pool and stream to his right. There were many game trails leading to and from his haven, caused both by large animals such as deer, and smaller animals such as rabbits and foxes. He knew where all of them were, which ones crossed which trails, and how many of them could allow a human to pass along them. He'd made a point of exploring the area over the past three years, and even though it was peacetime he made a point of entering and leaving along a different game trail each time. Habits of stealth were hard to break.   
  
Wufei paused on the threshold between clearing and forest, savoring what was likely to be his last visit here for a long time. The sun was glistening off of the waterfall, creating a faint rainbow over the pool. He would miss this place. Turning he stepped into the shade, feeling the same shiver he always felt, as if he was stepping from the sacred to the mundane. It was the sense he got every time he'd left the peace and security of the haven for the pain and uncertainty of the war. Sentimental fool, he accused himself in amusement, knowing he'd feel the same regardless of what he told himself.  
  
Traveling the game trail to and from the nearest town was something he'd done often enough that he didn't need to focus on the details of his surroundings on a conscious level. He let his instinct guide him as he focused his thoughts elsewhere. He'd planned on spending much of the day reading and practicing his forms, and had ended up spending little time doing either. Now, however, he planned on getting back to the town as soon as possible, then traveling out of China and back to Preventer headquarters as soon as he could. After that he planned on locating the other pilots for a reunion of sorts. Winner would be easy to find, if not contact, and would be enthusiastic for any excuse to get the five of them together again. Yuy and Barton would probably look at him impassively and grunt 'hn' or something of the like. Maxwell, however, would likely have to pick his jaw up off the floor at the thought of Wufei arranging a get together for them. The Chinese teen paused, savoring the image of the longhaired teen shocked speechless at the thought of 'stick-up-his-ass-justice-boy' planning a social event.  
  
That pause saved his life.  
  
The pilot dropped to the ground, staring at the arrow protruding from the tree where he would have been, had he not stopped in thought. Silly baka saved my life he thought irrelevantly. Warrior instincts activated, the youth leapt up, yanked the arrow from the tree, and dropped to the earth again. A brief examination of the arrow showed it to be a wooden shaft belonging to a longbow. It had a barbed metal head, and blood red fletching. More primitive than mine, but a nasty war arrow regardless, he mused clinically before sliding the weapon into the elastic strapping of his backpack.   
  
Getting into a defensive crouch, the pilot considered his options. He was currently hidden by the undergrowth, so he could move stealthily, but not run without making himself more visible. He glanced at his watch. It was almost an hour long walk to the town, but it was only ten minute walk to his cave. If he made it back to his cave, then he could defend it and himself for quite some time. As a last resort he could climb his chimney. That in mind he began to backtrack.   
  
The archer was now on his right side somewhere, and he moved cautiously, dropping easily into the stealth mode he'd used so much during the war. His instincts warned him to duck again and he cursed mentally as another arrow impaled itself above him in a tree.  
  
On the right side of the trail.   
  
Kisama, he thought. They're on both sides of the trail. Darting upwards he jerked the arrow from the tree and dropped to the narrow trail again. This one was much the same as the first, except that it was fletched in inky green feathers. The different fletching may have been meaningless, but for some reason he doubted it.  
  
Sliding the second arrow in with the first, Wufei fought the urge to run towards his cave. He knew that a moving target was more difficult to hit, but it would also leave more of him exposed above the undergrowth. For once he cursed the color of his silks - mourning white would draw the eye long after the sun set.   
  
Shrugging in resignation, the Chinese boy crept warily along the path, sword drawn and battle-ready. He scanned the surrounding forest for signs of his attackers, either in the form of archers or skirmishers. Several arrows arched above him, but they were much less accurate than the first two, and judging from their trajectory, they were random shots. Harrying fire, he thought. Either there were many archers, or the two had a lot of arrows to waste. It was definitely a coward's way to fight.   
  
Continuing his retreat, Wufei was suddenly startled when the breeze stopped. The leaves quieted completely, and the air was breathlessly still. Dropping into a crouch, he looked around, trying to find the source of the unnatural stillness. On the trail before him there appeared a pinpoint of red light, and his eyes widened in shock as it began to expand in pulsating waves. There was a sudden rush of wind towards the strange light. His hair whipped around his face as he glanced around for an escape route as he watched red tendrils of light snake out from the center point and form a pulsing ring of red and black energy. The boy could feel the negative energy radiating from it as it sharpened, giving the impression of rippled glass.   
  
The rest of the path vanished from behind the -- portal -- for lack of a better word. Instead a larger clearing was shown. A figure leapt thorough the "glass", and rolled to his feet with a feral grin on his face.  
  
The former pilot gasped in shock. The new soldier was not human.   
  
Superficially, the warrior had a human appearance, but it had dull gray skin, long blood red hair, and crimson armor that was so dark it looked almost black. It wore a crest on its chest that looked like a stylized demon to Wufei's eye.  
  
"Well, Princeling," it said in a deep voice. "You aren't too impressive when you aren't hiding at your sanctuary are you? Quite small really; but you can't hide now - you belong to us."  
  
Wufei readied himself for battle, but hesitated when the creature stepped aside and another one emerged. Looking through the "glass" the former Gundam pilot saw four more identical creatures. He cursed silently. There's no way I can fight all six of them on this narrow trail, especially not with the archers, he thought. Retreat was his only option.  
  
Turning, Wufei ran back the way he'd just come. The creatures seemed startled, but gave chase a moment later. Trying to keep low, the pilot scanned the right side of the path for a small game trail he remembered. Spotting it, he dove onto it, crawling quickly under the brambles, sword reversed between his knees to keep it out of the way. He was grateful for his small size - the creatures would have difficulty following him. Emerging on a parallel trail, the boy headed back towards the cave, trying to puzzle out what was going on.   
  
"Catch him, fools," shouted the first creature. "Hurry before he hides his presence again."   
  
Hide my presence? he thought in confusion as he picked up his pace. I've only been at my haven. Actually, he was almost at said clearing when the air stilled again.  
  
"K'so," he muttered, looking for the tell tale point of red light. The rush of air hit his back, tangling is loose hair in his face. His dark eyes widened as he saw the portal opening up between himself and his safety zone. Dodging past the partially formed portal he felt an electric tingle race up left arm, numbing it slightly, as he touched the green light. Green light? he asked himself as the portal snapped into completion and another gray-skinned creature emerged. Part of his mind noticed that this one looked almost identical to the last one with the exception being green hair and armor rather than red.   
  
Ignoring caution, Wufei began to run full out towards his haven. He had the odd impression that the color theme was more of an indication of different factions than some odd personal preference.   
  
"He's heading for the barrier," shouted someone behind him. "Send a portal there."  
  
Fear streaked through the dark haired young man as he emerged next to the stream and kept running. Arrows were arching around him and he could see the green portal forming beside the stream just before it widened into the pool. He was going to have to fight his way to safety. The pilot wondered what else could go wrong.  
  
A red portal began to open two feet away from the green one, effectively cutting off all access to the clearing other than that small two-foot gap. He couldn't even risk crossing the stream because then he'd be on the wrong side of the falls to reach his cave.   
  
Trying to analyze the situation, he found he didn't like the odds. There were "green" creatures behind him, and soon there'd be green and red ones ahead of him. Cursing, fate he prepared himself for death.   
  
Well, if I have to die, I'm taking as many of them with me as I can. With that thought he stopped suddenly and jumped to the side, whipping his sword out and decapitating the startled creature behind him. He hated using such low tactics, but he was seriously outnumbered, and had little choice. Wading into the fight, he quickly found himself using every ounce of his skill just to stay alive, barely anticipating their moves in time to counter them. So much for the reunion, he thought irrelevantly. Duo will be disappointed.  
  
"They've got the Princeling," someone shouted. There was a howl of rage from somewhere in the mele, and the Chinese youth paused in astonishment as attention was taken away from him. Using his new advantage, he took the offensive, trying to incapacitate as many of his foes so that he could make his escape.   
He cleared a space between the rival groups and saw his chance to make a break for the gap between portals. He was going to have to be very careful not to hit the energy field - he didn't need his arms going numb now. Running at full speed, he held his blade in both hands before him in preparation for his leap and his rolled landing.  
  
He felt the electric tingle as he neared the portals, stronger now with the power of two. He was unprepared however for the searing pain he felt as his sword blade touched the green portal and the hilt touched the red one. Energy arched through him as the portal ring was severed and tendrils of light began to lash around. The wind reached storm intensity as the light made contact with his body, wrapping painfully around him.   
  
Feeling as if he was being ripped apart, he screamed. Both light and pain flared to a blinding intensity before mercifully fading to unfeeling black.  
TBC  



	2. Chapter 2

Title: Web of Time 2/?  
By Hana-chan  
Category: AU, yaoi, angst, occasional lemon  
Pairings: eventual 1x4, 2x3x2, 5xOC   
Ratings: Varies. This part is R for violence  
Spoiler: None really, takes place about one year after EW  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Gundam Wing. This is for fun, not profit, so don't sue me. The story, and any characters that do not belong to GW belong to me.  
  
thoughts::telepathy::~emphasis~*** scene change  
  
Web of Time   
Chapter 2  
  
Wufei stirred, suppressing a groan of pain as he tried to assess his situation. The last thing he remembered was diving between those two portals, and a shock similar to electrocution, then nothing. Feigning unconsciousness, the former pilot opened his eyes a crack to survey the situation. He was lying on a hardwood floor, a wood paneled wall several inches from his face.   
  
The young man shifted slightly as if just regaining consciousness, and rolled as far onto his back as his backpack would allow, scanning the walls and ceiling for surveillance equipment. He wasn't entirely surprised to find none, as he didn't appear to be in a cell. He was very surprised, however, to find himself in a hallway, sword still under his hand backpack jabbing into his flesh.   
  
Puzzled, but unable to see or hear anyone, the pilot stood slowly, muscles twitching from the aftereffects of his experience. Well, that certainly isn't something I want to repeat. he thought, as he resheathed his sword before cautiously moved toward the nearest window on his right. Leaning against the wall, the young man peered out, trying to take in his situation. This is getting stranger by the minute, he thought as he noticed the narrow wooden balcony and the curved ceramic roof that was glazed a bright red color.   
  
A pagoda? he wondered, recognizing the familiar building construction, though he noticed a few differences such as the lack of statuettes on the roof. Moving away from the window, he proceeded to slowly walk along the hallway, keeping the windows on his right. The building appeared to be octagonal in shape, and the young man was currently making a circuit around it. As he approached his starting point, he found two doors: one to the balcony on his right, and one to a room on his left. Dropping into a crouch, he peered into the interior doorway.   
  
The room had been ransacked.  
  
Tables and statues had been destroyed, tapestries slashed with a blade of some sort, and stains of what looked to be dried blood soaked the floor. The only thing left untouched was a wooden rack that held a sheathed sword and several scrolls. He frowned in anger, disgust and curiosity. What kind of person desecrated a temple in this manner? Then destroyed the lesser items, but left such a weapon?  
  
Shaking his head he looked more closely at the room, and this time frowned in confusion. There didn't appear to be any other entrance to this level. How can there be no access to the ground floor? he asked himself. Stepping through the doorway, he examined the room. There didn't even seem to be space for a hidden passageway. Walking back into the hallway he moved towards the doorway that led to the balcony. In his experience there were no stairways from the balconies of pagodas, but nothing much was normal about things thus far.   
  
A high-pitched scream tore through the outside air. Eyes narrowed warily, the youth stepped outside and, hugging the wall, skulked towards the sound. The scream came again and he picked up his pace. That sounds like a child. The ring of steel on steel stopped him, and he peered through the slats of the railing. Below him were half a dozen soldiers. The setting sun reflected off their armor, as they moved to surround a child and a warrior dressed in browns. The warrior was struggling to keep his body between the soldiers and the child, sun glinting redly on his naked blade.   
  
"K'so," he cursed quietly. Removing his backpack and sword belt, Wufei drew his sword. He wondered briefly if these were the dishonorable curs that had desecrated the temple. He climbed over the railing and carefully made his way to the edge of the first sloped roof. Hopping down to the second roof, he went to the edge and somersaulted off in move that would do Trowa proud. Landing gracefully, he dashed over towards the battle. The two were surrounded, and the warrior wouldn't be able to protect the child for much longer.   
  
Coming from behind, Wufei ran one fighter through just before he was about to impale the child. Growling in outrage, the pilot placed himself back-to-back with the warrior, keeping the child - a boy - between them. Taking a brief moment to examine the dishonorable fighters-they did not deserve to be called warriors--Wufei gasped at the double image he suddenly had. Gray skin and red hair were transposed over the human features momentarily before returning to normal.   
  
Concentrate you baka, he told himself, defending against the combined attack of two swordsmen.   
  
It didn't take long for Wufei to realize that each of the attackers was at least as good as he was, and that if the three of them didn't get to a more defensible position, they wouldn't survive. Looking back at the temple, he spotted the main entrance. If they could get inside, they could use the doorway or stairwell if there was one, to protect their flanks. They would stand a chance then, especially if the boy could hide somewhere.  
  
"Warrior," he hissed at the man guarding his back. "The temple."  
  
The brown-clad warrior glared over his shoulder then nodded. Wufei redoubled his attack on one of the two soldiers, and deliberately created an opening, giving the illusion of weakness. One of the fighters attacked the apparent weakness, and found himself with a sword point through the gut.  
  
"Now," shouted the pilot as the soldier dropped, creating a break. The child bolted for the temple while Wufei and the other warrior backed towards it, three remaining soldiers attacking them.  
  
"Hurry," came the boy's voice from inside the temple. As one, the two defenders turned and ran for the door, helping to secure the door as it was slammed closed behind them.  
  
"To the stairwell," said the unknown warrior, and Wufei was surprised at the sound of the voice. He must be younger than I thought, he mused, trailing behind the other two. Part of his mind noted the jet black hair, pulled into a tail like he himself usually wore, and the somewhat traditional cut of his clothing, but he was unable to get a clear view of his face.  
  
The younger boy, however, was obviously of Chinese descent, dark hair and eyes attesting to the fact. Wufei spotted the stairwell at the back of the room, just as he heard the main doors splintering under the efforts of the soldiers outside. He realized that it must open into the room with the sword, and briefly wondered which wall it emerged from.  
  
"You go first," he said to the warrior, who was waiting at the base. "He will need to be protected if I fail, and he knows you." He nodded to the youngster who had already run upwards into the darkening passage.   
  
After a hesitation, the other nodded. A moment later the main doors splintered and crashed open. Backing partially up the narrow passageway, Wufei swung his sword experimentally - he'd have just enough room to move comfortably.  
  
The three remaining soldiers approached him, cursing as they realized they'd have to fight him one at a time, rather than as a group as they had before. Snarling, one of them charged up the few steps separating them and swung his sword, blades meeting with a loud clang that sent sparks flying.   
  
They traded blows, the sound of their combat echoing harshly up the staircase. The pilot had the advantage of height as he took the offensive, backing his opponent down the stairs again. Unfortunately, they were evenly matched, and while Wufei might be able to defeat this one, he was uncertain if he could duel all three of them successfully, and there was no easy way to trade places with his new ally.   
  
Letting himself go on the defensive, the Chinese youth leapt back two steps rather than blocking the sword. The move was unexpected, causing the soldier to stumble, and giving Wufei the opening he needed. Bringing his sword down on the unprotected neck, he kicked the now headless body down to the floor.   
  
He waited for the next attack. He knew there would be one, judging by the enraged expressions the two remaining soldiers wore. Wufei didn't blame them for being upset, especially after losing four teammates to two warriors who were over a head shorter than them.   
  
The two fighters held a brief whispered conference before one of them stepped forward. "Who are you?" he asked. "And why do defend these brats?"  
  
"I am Chang Wufei," he said proudly. "And I defend them because six against one is a dishonorable battle."  
  
"Dishonorable?" the man said scornfully. "There is nothing wrong with exterminating pests."  
  
"Pests?" questioned Wufei with incredulous scorn. "Human beings are not pests." He's stalling, he thought quickly. What could be his reason for stalling?   
  
"Not all of them are," agreed the soldier. "But Dragons definitely fall under that category."  
  
"Hn," grunted Wufei, hiding his shock. Dragons? As in Dragon Clan?  
  
Wufei had a sudden feeling of dread and he tensed. Something was going to happen.  
  
Then something did.   
  
A sickly red light flared around the pilot's sword and an electric heat shot up his arm. One soldier leapt forward to attack. Gritting his teeth in pain, Wufei raised his sword, determined to meet the attack.  
  
His sword shattered on impact.  
  
Gasping in shock, he stared at the twelve inches of jagged steel - the last remnants of his family sword. "Kuso," he cursed, jumping backwards up the steps, trying desperately to avoid his opponents blade.   
  
"Warrior," cried the young man behind him. "Let me pass - I'll fight."  
  
"Too narrow," he responded, lashing out with a kick. I need a weapon. Suddenly the image of the sword he'd seen upstairs flashed through his mind.  
  
"Yes," he breathed to himself. "Warrior, crouch down and prepare to attack," he said quickly. A quick glance showed that the other had done as ordered, and Wufei took a deep breath then sprung up and back in a backward somersault, landing lightly behind his ally.  
  
Both of the fighters were shocked momentarily, until the brown-clad youth attacked. The battle raged on again.  
  
Racing up the stairs, the pilot stopped at the top where the child crouched. "The door?" he whispered harshly, still clutching the remains of his sword. The young boy nodded and pressed one of the panels which caused a doorway to open away from them. Nodding his thanks, the Chinese teen pushed his way into the room, noting briefly that he was at the back of the room. As he'd hoped, the sword was still there, cradled in it's wooden rack, scrolls beneath it. Placing his broken blade on the floor, he picked up the sword reverently, drawing if from its sheath. It was perfectly balanced, as if it were made for him. He heard the child gasp softly, as he placed the scabbard back on the rack.   
  
Rushing out the opposite door, he dashed to the balcony, and repeated his descent from earlier, landing gracefully outside the temple. Peering through the ruined door, he noticed that the warrior was still facing the same soldier. He is a skilled warrior for one so young, he thought in admiration before quietly creeping back into the temple. He frowned as he stalked forward. Something is not right about that other soldier, the one who destroyed my sword. The image of a gray skinned, red haired creature kept playing in his mind. Could it be disguising its identity with some sort of hologram? he wondered.  
  
Then the air went completely still.  
  
Wufei gasped as the image of a dozen creatures entering the temple came to him, along with flashes of death for the warrior, the child, and himself. Fast deaths, slow ones, by torture, by fire - the possibilities whipped through his mind in an instant.  
  
Kisama! Get a hold on yourself, he mentally cursed himself. Imagine things later, distract him so that he cannot open the portal.  
  
Running on quiet feet, he shouted his challenge as he neared. The silent fighter jumped, startled, and the pinpoint of red light vanished.  
  
The Portal Caster spun, sword drawn, enraged expression on his face. Upon seeing Wufei, however, it changed to shock then fear before settling in a blank mask.   
  
What has upset him? the pilot asked himself as he engaged the enemy. Pushing the thought away, he focused on his opponent. The fighter was good, but Wufei knew that he would win. The sword in his hand sung through the air, catching every stray beam of light in the room so that it appeared to glow. The Chinese youth was amazed at how easy it was - he could anticipate and counter the other's moves with an ease he'd never experienced before.   
  
The fight, therefore, was over almost before it had begun. Wufei turned from the body of his foe, looking towards the stairs to see the final enemy fall to the black haired warrior. "Are you well?" he asked the other boy, who was casually cleaning his sword on his foe's tunic. Glancing at his new blade, Wufei was surprised to see it was already clean.  
  
"I am fine," he commented. "Thank you for your assistance,"  
  
"Hn. No thanks are necessary," the pilot responded. Taking a moment to observe the other youth, he noted that he too was Chinese, with the same dark eyes that Wufei had. Wisps of hair had come lose and hung around his face. The delicate strength of the boy reminded him of someone, but he couldn't think of who. His head suddenly began throbbing, and he wondered if the warrior would introduce himself and his young companion.  
  
When no names were forthcoming Wufei decided to begin. "Do you have a name, or should I just call you warrior?" he asked, noticing that the other swordsman was staring at him.  
  
The boy started and blushed. "Forgive my manners," he apologized. "You bear a strong resemblance to someone I know. It was unexpected."  
  
How odd, mused Wufei. We are both experiencing deja vous. And he sounds to be only about twelve or thirteen, While he knew it was possible to be an accomplished fighter at that age, he himself had been, it still caught him off guard.  
  
"My name is. . ." he began only to be cut off by a high pitched voice from upstairs.   
  
"Mei, Mei," cried the child as he came pounding down the stairs. He leapt over the bodies at the bottom, scabbard and scrolls clutched to his chest. "He's the one! He's got the sword," he exclaimed, panting for breath. "Meiying, he has the Horacyrus Blade."  
  
Wufei looked at the young boy in curiosity. His straight black hair tangled around his chin and stuck to his lips. He also bore a strong resemblance to the warrior. Thinking of the warrior, he recalled the name the boy had used. Meiying? That's a woman's name, he thought in astonishment, barely managing to erase the expression from his face before he ~she~ turned back to him, glare lighting up her dark eyes.  
  
"You have the Horacyrus Blade?" she asked in an angry voice. "How do you know, Liko?"  
  
"I saw him take it," he said with a grin. "Here's the scabbard, and the scrolls, see?"  
  
The girl examined the items carefully then looked at Wufei with an expression between anger and awe. "~You~ are the one the prophecies speak of?" she asked in a stunned voice.  
  
Wufei raised a questioning eyebrow. Horacyrus Blade? Prophecies? "I'm afraid that I have no idea what you are talking about," he said honestly.  
  
"Everyone's heard of the Horacyrus Blade - that's why the South Demoans destroyed the temple," the boy said. "Where're you from anyway?"  
  
"L-5," he responded hesitantly, realizing that it would likely mean as much to them as the Horacyrus Blade meant to him. Their blank looks confirmed his suspicions.  
  
"What does it mean that I have this sword?" he asked. "It was just laying there on the stand after all." Though, if it is important as they say, I don't know why it was still there, he thought privately.  
  
The other two just stared at him, the girl with suspicion, the boy with disbelief. "Why, it means you're the Hidden Prince, who'll help save us from the Demons, of course."  
  
  
TBC  
  
Next chapter, some familiar faces.  
  
  
--Hana-chan  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Title: Web of Time 3/?  
By Hana-chan  
Category: AU, yaoi, angst, occasional lemon  
Pairings: eventual 1x4, 2x3x2, 5xOC   
Ratings: Varies. This part is PG.  
Spoiler: None really, takes place about one year after EW  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Gundam Wing. This is for fun, not profit, so don't sue me. The story, and any characters that do not belong to GW belong to me.  
  
thoughts::telepathy::~emphasis~*** scene change  
  
Web of Time   
Chapter 3  
  
Duo Maxwell groaned faintly, rolling onto his back. "Anyone get the number of that bus?" he mumbled, trying to cope with the throbbing in his skull. Opening his eyes, he frowned in confusion and closed them again. He repeated the process several more times, with his hand in front of his face, seeing the exact same thing each time.  
  
Nothing whatsoever.  
  
"Okay, Maxwell," he told himself. "Do what the book says and 'Don't Panic'[1]. So you can't see, there're a lot of explanations - you're blind, it's dark, you're dreaming, you're crazy. I am hoping for the darkness one though; the others sound very un-fun."  
  
Closing his eyes, the pilot touched the lids, rolling his eyeballs around under his fingers. "Well, eyeballs are present and accounted for, and seem to be working to some extent," he babbled. "It's looking good for the darkness option. Though I guess that dreaming or being crazy might have the same results."  
  
Rolling over, he pushed himself to his knees and sat back on his heels. He seemed intact - clothing, hair, eyeballs, limbs - all seemed to be in their proper places. "Well, except for the whole seeing thing, I seem to be in one piece. In the dark, on a cold -- and damp -- stone floor somewhere." Frowning in thought, he tried to remember what had happened to get him here.  
  
"Hmmm," he said. "I finally got that old mobile suit moving when. . . when what?" Scratching his head, Duo reached around and caught hold of his braid and began flicking the tail of it against his lips and nose. "The suit moved, I decided to celebrate, and. . ." His eyes widened in shock. "I was attacked!" he exclaimed. "Those green-haired gray bastards attacked me and nearly ripped my braid off." Growling he leapt to his face and began pacing only to be stopped abruptly when he crashed into a stone wall.  
  
Cursing, he rubbed his sore nose and rocked back and forth on his feet. "Owww," he complained. "Who put a stupid wall there?"   
  
Glaring at the unseen wall, he grumbled to himself. "I said," he shouted. "Who put a stupid wall there!"  
  
There was no response, not even the echoing of his voice.   
  
"He-llo-o," he called out in a sing-song voice. "A-ny-bo-dy ho-ome?"  
  
Still no response.  
  
"HEY," he yelled. "You can't just kidnap me then ignore me! What about my rights? My phone call? My attorney? The right to be tortured and killed? Don't you know what you're doing? You don't go through all that trouble and ignore your prisoner. What about ransom?"  
  
The silence was so loud it was almost deafening.   
  
Sighing, he reached out and touched the wall before quickly jerking his hands back. "Ewww," he he said, rubbing his hands on his pants. "Slimy." Taking a deep breath, he put his right hand delicately on the wall, left one outstretched before him and blindly shuffled around the perimeter of the room.  
  
"Wall, wall, more wall, more -- huh?" he stopped his ramblings, reaching out one foot to touch, or rather not touch, the hole in the floor in front of him. He sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. "Toilet," he said in disgust, before continuing. "Wall, Wall, more -- steel?" Groping around with both hands, the pilot felt what he assumed was a metal door. There were, however, no hinges, keyholes, knobs or anything else that he might normally associate with a door. At the bottom of it was a small covered indentation that he assumed was a slot for food to be passed through.   
  
"Oh goodie, dungeon food," he said, clapping his hands before resuming his circuit around the cell. When he reached the toilet hole again he paced across the room, arms outstretched before him. "One, two, three, four, slime. Hmm, that makes about six feet or so. Not much room." He reached out his right hand, touched the other wall then paced the cell again. "One, two, three, four, five, door. Almost seven feet. Drat, that isn't very big; not at all."  
  
Staring at the blackness, Duo began to fidget. He rocked back and forth on his feet, swinging his arms slightly. The darkness was oppressive though so he grabbed his braid and began to play with the tail of it.  
  
"Come on, Maxwell," he told himself. "Don't freak out. Someone will come by soon. I mean, why bother taking a prisoner then locking him somewhere in the dark forever. . ."  
  
Tugging his braid, he squeezed his eyes closed, taking deep breaths. "Someone will come, you won't be left here alone. Someone always comes." Pulling on his hair hard enough to make his eyes water, Duo began pacing his cell.  
  
"One, two, three, four, turn, one, two, three, four, turn," he muttered as he walked. He held the center of his braid in his left hand, tail in his right, twisting and untwisting the rope of hair.  
  
"Look on the bright side - Ha, as if there's a bright side in pitch darkness - at least it doesn't sound like there's buggies, or rats or anything skittering around. . . but then, there might be spiders, they don't really skitter. . ." The teen froze in the middle of the cell, mind conjuring up images of giant spiders lurking unseen in the corners. Breathing rapidly, he crushed his eyes closed trying to banish the pictures from his mind. He could almost feel their webs brushing lightly against his skin. Jumping he rubbed wildly at his face trying to be rid of the imaginary spider webs.  
  
"Deep breaths, baka, deep breaths. There are no spiders. No bugs for food equals no spiders. The cell is also too small for Shilob [2] to live here, so nothing can eat me. Think of something else. Anything else. Hmmm, your friends. Think about them."  
  
Duo began to pace again brushing his face with the end of his braid, trying to picture his friends. Heero, in his tank top and spandex, typing away at his laptop. Those dark blue eyes were mezmerizing, peering out from under his thatch of dark hair. He could almost hear him grunt "Hn," and call him a baka. Wufei was dark, silent, practicing his forms on the morning grass dressed in blue and white. That beautiful hair was drawn back in a tight ponytail, black eyes seeming both sad and mysterious at the same time. He'd probably just say "Maxwell" in such a way that conveyed exasperation. Actually, his own mental voice sounded something like that when he was irritated with himself. Quatre was easy - blond and sunny with seablue eyes and a gentle smile - you couldn't help but want to protect him, silly pink shirt and all. And lastly was Trowa. That unibang was fascinating, always managing to mask his face. Those body hugging clothes, his deep green eyes - he definitely qualified as the strong silent type.  
  
As the images grew clearer in his mind, Duo slowed his pacing then sat in the center of the floor.   
He played around with the details until they were just right. When he could see them clearly with his eyes open he settled back to admire them. This trick always worked better in darkness because there was nothing to confuse his eyes, but even he was somewhat surprised at the results this time. He hadn't realized how many little things he knew about them. But then again, he had had a crush on each one of them at some point during the war.  
  
Examining the images again, he sighed a bit in disappointment - they looked quite lifelike in his mind, but they were still lifeless eye-candy. It just wasn't the same as having them here for real, or having his ghost friends around. Solo-ghost had been almost as realistic as Solo himself, except that no one else could see or hear him, but then, he'd never wanted anyone else to see him or hear him.  
  
Frowning slightly, he sighed. He hadn't thought of Solo-ghost for quite a while now; he missed him, imaginary friend or no. Actually, he missed all of his ghost friends, but they seemed to have come and gone as he got older. Solo-ghost was the only one who stayed for any length of time - for years actually, from the death of the real Solo until some time during the war. Almost half of his life really.  
  
The teenager shook his head. He was a bit upset that he hadn't thought of Solo-ghost in such a long time. Unfortunately, thinking of his old friend, caused the images of his new friends to waver and begin to fade.  
  
"Wait," he cried out. "Don't go. Don't leave me alone in the dark." He clutched his braid in a death grip as the visions began to fade. "Don't leave me alone," he wailed, curling into a tight ball as they vanished completely. "I'll be good, I promise," he whimpered. "Please don't lock me in the dark, don't leave me alone."  
  
::I won't leave you alone,:: said a very faint voice. ::Duo, you aren't alone::   
  
Blinking tears away, the long-haired boy looked up. Trowa's image flickered alone, translucent in the darkness. "Trowa?" he called out hopefully.   
  
::I'm here,:: said the voice. Concentrating, the image resolved itself until it seemed as if Trowa was in the room with him.  
  
Duo relaxed at the sound of the voice in his head. "You'll stay with me?"   
  
::We'll stay with each other,:: was the response.  
  
"Thank you, Trowa-ghost,: whispered the braided pilot, slowly relaxing from his tight curl. He wasn't sure why Trowa was showing up as a ghost friend, but he wasn't going to argue. He'd never figured out what made his ghost friends different from his regular image-pictures, but right now all he cared about was the fact that he wasn't going to be alone in the dark. With that thought, and the warm presence of his friend in his mind, he fell into an exhausted sleep.  
  
* * *  
  
Trowa blinked, staring blindly into the inky darkness trying to understand what exactly was going on. That he was a prisoner somewhere he had no doubt. His last clear memory was of being attacked shortly after he'd returned Duchess to her stall at the circus. The gray skinned, green haired creatures had obviously not been human, but what they actually were, he had no idea. Their armor and swords suggested a more medieval setting, though how ~that~ was possible Trowa didn't want to guess at until he'd gathered more facts. He remembered killing at least two of them with his throwing knives - the others had been so enraged that they had nearly killed him. In fact, he was sure that the only reason his head was still attached to his neck was the leader's angry order to take him ~alive~.  
  
Judging by the pain in his torso, limbs, and head, beating him had obviously fallen within the range of ~alive~. As it was, he didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, or locked in this cell, but the blood that matted his hair was dry, and his muscles were stiff. He'd managed to work out most of the kinks when he'd first awoken, but the cold dampness of the cell wasn't helping.  
  
Beginning a new series of stretches, Trowa watched the darkness. The absolute lack of light didn't bother him - in fact it was oddly relaxing. His other senses had heightened and, despite the cold and pain, he had the strange sensation of disembodiment, as if he were simply a mind floating in the darkness.  
  
The silence, however, was unnerving. Ever since he'd spent those days drifting in space with absolutely no sound, and only the stars for company, he'd hated absolute silence. Though he himself didn't find it necessary to speak much, he always surrounded himself with sound - people talking, animals moving, the hum of machinery - he didn't care what type of sound it was, as long as it broke the silence.  
  
Actually, it was one of the reasons he'd been drawn to Duo near the end of the war. That boy never had trouble filling the silence, and expected nothing in return other than the odd grunt or comment.  
  
That was also why, he suspected, when his mind conjured up a voice to break the silence it was Duo's voice that he heard. He could vividly remember the plea for help -- to not be left alone - for it mirrored his own need. His mind had known exactly what was necessary to survive this ordeal and had provided it in the form of Duo Maxwell's voice.  
  
As if thinking about it had conjured it, the Duo-voice spoke to him again.  
  
::Trowa-ghost?:: it asked. ::Are you still there?::  
  
::Of course I am,:: he assured it, wondering briefly where the name Trowa-ghost came from. It fit the strangely disembodied feeling he'd been experiencing so far, so he didn't question it much.  
  
Something else he didn't really question was why the Duo-voice sounded so scared and insecure when he'd always thought of the American as being confident, and generally happy. Shrugging in the darkness, he assumed it was something his mind needed, much like the amnesia he'd suffered before. The Duo-voice was a lot more like him than the real Duo that he was used to, making it easier to relate to. Both Duos talked incessantly to be sure, but the voice seemed more approachable.  
  
::So, what do you want to do today?:: asked the Duo-voice.  
  
Trowa smiled slightly, typical Duo. ::I'd like to go for a picnic in a field of wildflowers with the sun shining brightly in the deep blue sky,:: he responded, closing his eyes and trying to picture the scene.  
  
::With clouds like mounds of marshmallow fluff just begging to be eaten,:: added the voice.  
  
The HeavyArms pilot found himself smiling again at the appetizing picture that the words conjured for him. The scene came together in his mind, crystallizing until it stood there more vividly than anything he'd ever imagined before.  
  
"Perfect," he whispered in wonder.  
  
::Almost,:: said the Duo-voice. ::I wish I could see ~you~ there instead of just hearing you.::  
  
::I wish I could see ~both~ of us there,:: he told the voice, amused that it acted as if it were independent of him.  
  
::I'll work on it,:: it responded with a laugh. ::For now, at least I'm not in the dark.::  
  
The quiet scrape of metal on metal caused Trowa to sit up, startled, eyes flying open. He was surprised to see the field of flowers with his real eyes before it faded to blackness. ::What was that?:: he asked.  
  
::I don't know,:: responded the Duo-voice. ::The food slot?::  
  
There was a slight scraping on the floor somewhere in front of him, then the metallic scraping again, then there was nothing. Trowa waited a few moments then crawled forward cautiously, one hand feeling the way tentatively as he moved. He hadn't gone far when he encountered what appeared to be a tray with something wet on it.  
  
::Eeewww,:: said the Duo-voice. ::Dungeon food.::  
  
Trowa's mouth quirked up a bit on the side. ::Probably,:: he replied. ::If you can call it food that is.::  
  
::Anything that is remotely edible is food,:: came the subdued response.  
  
The green-eyed pilot winced, but had to agree.  
  
::So do we eat this and hope that it isn't poisoned?:: asked the voice.  
  
Trowa thought for a moment then nodded to himself. ::It's probably safe,:: he said. ::Or at least it probably isn't lethal,:: he amended. ::They were under orders to keep me alive earlier, so I doubt that they'd kill me now.::  
  
::Well then, here's to us, and the hope that this isn't poison.::  
  
The pilot took a deep breath and scooped some of the almost scentless substance onto his fingers before tentatively putting it in his mouth.   
  
::Yumm, gruel,:: commented the Duo-voice.  
  
::I'm just glad it's almost tasteless,:: commented Trowa, trying not to make a face as he continued to eat.  
  
::Very true. Bland wins over gross in my books any day.::  
  
The green-eyed pilot nodded into the darkness and continued to eat. There wasn't much, but at least his stomach had something in it.  
  
::Now what?:: asked the Duo-voice. ::Do we sit here forever? Simply wait for our next meal such as it was? Or do we wait to be executed or go mad or something?::  
  
Trowa was about to respond when a wave of dizziness swept over him. Though he couldn't see, he felt as if the room was spinning.  
  
::Drugged,:: he thought frantically before he lost consciousness.  
  
TBC.  
  
  
[1] This is from Douglas Adam's 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'. It seems like a book Duo would enjoy ::grins::  
[2] Shelob is that giant spider in 'The Lord of the Rings' by JRR Tolkien. So, Duo likes "old" books! Hn.  
  
--Hana-chan  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Title: Web of Time 4/?  
By Hana-chan  
Email: gohana_chan@hotmail.com  
Category: AU, yaoi, angst, occasional lemon  
Pairings: eventual 1x4, 2x3x2, 5xOC   
Ratings: Varies. This part is PG.  
Spoiler: Series, EW, and the Episode Zero manga are helpful but not essential  
Archive: Mystic Gundam Wing: http://www.angelfire.com/anime2/cleft/mysticmain.html , FanFiction.net http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic?action=directory-authorprofile&UserId=81835  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Gundam Wing. This is for fun, not profit, so don't sue me. The story, and any characters that do not belong to GW belong to me.  
  
thoughts::telepathy::~emphasis~*** scene change  
  
Web of Time   
Chapter 4  
  
Quatre awoke to metal bars and a low throbbing pain in his chest. He blinked his eyes owlishly before pushing himself into a sitting position. Looking around he took in the surroundings that were definitely ~not~ his office at Winner Incorporated, where he had dozed off for a moment behind the stacks of paperwork. There was a long, windowless stone wall behind him that was divided into several barred cages. At the end of the line of cages was a heavy wooden door reinforced with metal strips.  
  
Peering around, he spotted no one other than a single figure in the cage beside his. Crawling over to the bars, he leaned against them. "Hello," he said quietly.  
  
The other figure didn't respond, other than curling tighter into a fetal ball. Quatre gasped as a wave of self-loathing stabbed his heart. Hissing in pain, he clutched the fabric of his shirt, trying to reinforce the mental barrier he kept between himself and outside emotions. Panting, he Felt the sensation lessen, and he slumped against the side of the cage.   
  
Sighing, he watched the other figure sadly. He didn't know the cause of the other man's torment, but it had to be something bad to create such a strong feeling of self-hate. Biting his bottom lip Quatre debated what to do. His instinct was to help, but he'd never Felt anyone's emotions this strongly before, and he was a bit concerned. The normally vague sensation he was familiar with was nowhere near as powerful, distinct, or painful as what he'd just Felt. He wondered if it had something to do with where he was, or with the unknown man beside him.   
  
Shaking his head he looked at the barred door. Escape sounded like a good idea but while he could see the lock, he'd never been that good at picking them, and unlike Duo, he didn't carry picks on him at all times. Absently massaging the aching spot where his neck met his shoulders, he looked around the cage again. There was nothing he could use as a weapon; his belt had been removed, and since he wore dress loafers, he had no laces. There wasn't even somewhere for him to hide to surprise any guards who might bring him food. Other than overpowering the guard and stealing his keys, there was little the blond could do to further his chances at freedom.  
  
Hearing a slight whimper, Quatre turned his attention to the man in the next cage. He was trembling, dark brown hair splayed on the floor under his head. Reaching out instinctively, Quatre stretched his arm between the bars and gently touched the man's head with the tips of his fingers, hoping to offer some comfort.  
  
His mouth opened in a silent scream as emotions flooded into him and clamped hard on his heart. He struggled to breathe as his heart constricted painfully. Whimpering he slid to the floor, unable to pull his hand back from where it tangled in the other man's hair.  
  
Failure, inadequacy, self-loathing, loneliness, confusion, anger, hatred, distrust, despair, Quatre was drowning in negative sensations, losing himself in the maelstrom and pain. Suddenly fear, concern and horror joined the tumult, and there was a sharp spike in the emotions that made the blond cry out in agony.   
  
Then it stopped. A warmth radiated up his extended left arm and into his chest, enveloping his heart in a comforting heat. His muscles relaxed and his breathing slowly returned to normal as the heat spread throughout his body. The chaotic emotions were still there, but the warmth created a buffer between them and Quatre. He was no longer drowning; he was no longer in pain.   
  
Groaning, the Arabian slowly opened his eyes. His arm was still in the other cage, but his wrist was now in the warm grip of the other prisoner. Looking over he found himself caught by a pair of wide Prussian eyes.   
  
"Heero?" he asked faintly, shocked not only that the normally stoic pilot was the source of the chaotic emotions, but that he was also the source of the comforting warmth.   
  
"Quatre? It is you," was the hushed response. A sense relief touched the new buffers, followed quickly by remorse, guilt, and the cycle of negative emotions began again.  
  
The blond's eyes opened wide, and he gasped, cringing back, trying to escape the torrent, clutching Heero's wrist spastically. The flood wasn't as strong this time, but it still battered at his weakening mental barriers. He whimpered slightly, frantically trying to hold the barriers in place, but he Felt them giving way beneath the onslaught.   
  
Heero's grip on his wrist tightened and the warmth poured into his body once again, wrapping around his heart, stopping the pain. Basking momentarily in the relaxing warmth he opened his eyes again and looked at his friend.   
  
"Thank you," he said softly, squeezing the wrist he was holding. "I don't know what you did, but thank you."  
  
The dark haired pilot looked at the stone floor for a moment before looking up again. "Don't thank me," he said in a low voice, releasing Quatre's wrist. "I ~caused~ the pain - I could tell,"  
  
Taking in Heero's expression, Quatre sighed. He recognized the determined look, and knew that arguing about blame would be pointless right now. Instead he changed the subject.  
  
"Do you know what's going on?" he asked. "The last thing I remember was falling asleep at my desk."  
  
A haunted look appeared briefly on Heero's face before it was quickly masked. Likewise with the quick burst of feeling - hate and anger directed both inward and outward was repressed almost immediately. Quatre gasped, both at the strength of the emotions, and the way his friend dealt with them, or rather, didn't deal with them. They were going to have to have a long conversation in the near future.  
  
Quatre watched Heero take a slow breath before he spoke. "I was using my laptop in the park when I was attacked by these. . . creatures. They were gray skinned, with long red hair and dark red armor. I don't know where they came from, but they attacked me with swords," Heero's eyes were unfocussed as he stared at the bars of the cage. "I disarmed one, but they wouldn't stop. I had to . . . kill . . . half of them which only seemed to enrage the others. They had me cornered. Then this red. . . gate? doorway? . . . opened up behind me and I was dragged through. They beat me then," he said, expression shuttered. "I didn't fight back, not after a while - I had killed, so. . ." trailing off, he went silent.  
  
Chewing on his bottom lip, Quatre stared wide-eyed at his friend. He vaguely remembered Relena telling him about the vow that Heero had made at the end of the battle with Mariemaia and Dakim Barton, but he'd never expected killing, especially in self-defense, to be so damaging to Heero's sense of self. During the war he'd been the quickest to kill for the mission, and now. . .   
  
Looking closer at his friend, the Arabian frowned in puzzlement. There wasn't a mark on him. While he didn't doubt his friend's word, his uchuu no kokoro told him Heero wasn't lying, but unless he'd been here for a long time, he should show signs of a beating. Quatre was opening his mouth to ask about it when the door at the end of the line of cages was slammed open with an echoing crash.   
  
Jumping, startled, Quatre's mouth snapped closed and he turned to watch the six men who came towards them. They looked just as Heero had described them -it was, in fact difficult to tell them apart. They Felt different though. He wasn't exactly sure what it was, but had they looked more human, he'd recognize that they weren't. Something was missing in them.   
  
The creatures stopped before the two cages, and Quatre found himself staring into the sickly yellow gaze of the leader. The eyes weren't the bright yellow of an owl or a wolf, but the dull, mottled color of a healing bruise. Shivering, his hand clutched spastically at Heero's wrist, and he had to force himself not to huddle against the bars.   
  
"Ah, look," said the leader. "The Princelings are awake." Looking between the two prisoners, its gaze settled on Quatre. "You," he said. "Where is the fifth?"  
  
A puzzled frown creased Quatre's brows. He had no idea what he was being asked. Fifth what? Wufei was the fifth pilot, but what did he have to do with this? And how would these creatures know that anyway? He remained silent, as he couldn't answer the question.  
  
"So, you're going to be difficult are you? Fine." He gestured towards one of the creatures who approached Quatre's cage. "Take him for questioning."  
  
The blond stared back wide eyed as the implications of that statement sank in.   
  
"Take me instead." Heero released his hand and moved forward until he was at the door to his own cage.  
  
"Heero, no," Quatre said, reaching out to stop his friend.  
  
The lead creature looked between the two pilots, then looked more closely at Heero. A calculating frown appeared on his face as he studied them. "Bring both of them," he said abruptly. "We'll question one while the other watches. One of them will give in and answer either for his own sake or for his companion's. Let's go."  
  
Quatre glanced in Heero's direction. A sense of dread filled him as he thought about what the leader had said. He didn't want to be tortured, especially in front of Heero as it would obviously add to the negative emotional chaos inside him, but at the same time, he didn't want his friend to be tortured either. The worst thing was, that since they didn't have the information that the creatures wanted, they couldn't give it to them. They'd be broken, and no one was there to pick up the pieces.  
  
  
* * *  
  
Heero watched helplessly as they bound Quatre, locking heavy metal cuffs around his wrists and ankles. He wanted to scream in frustration - Quatre shouldn't be hurt; he didn't deserve it. He allowed himself to be bound as well for escape was pointless; he wouldn't leave his friend.   
  
They were yanked roughly from their cages, and thrust into the center of the circle of creatures. Heero discretely tested the chains by pulling his hands apart. The linking chain was strong, but didn't appear to be as well made as the restraints made by OZ. He didn't think he could break the links without also breaking his wrists however.   
  
The pilots were forced through the door into a stone hallway lit only by flickering and hissing torches, and Heero disliked it intensely. Something about this place, beyond the obvious fact that it was a dungeon, was bothering him intensely. He saw Quatre flinch slightly as an agony filled scream echoed through the corridor, and he suppressed a gasp as searing pain suddenly burned across his chest - it felt as if someone were drawing a red-hot poker over his skin.   
  
By the time the gray-skinned guards stopped, Quatre was whimpering in pain, cuffed hands clutching his shirt, and Heero was trembling from the feeling of hundreds of invisible wounds. He didn't understand it, this inexplicable pain, but seemed almost as if it was second hand - he'd been tortured before so he knew this wasn't quite as intense as the real thing, but it was very painful none the less. He did know that the constricting pain in his heart belonged to Quatre however. He'd experienced it earlier when they were in the cages. Feeling others emotions somehow hurt the blond, and Heero wasn't sure how to make the pain go away.  
  
The dark-haired pilot was distracted from his thoughts as his hands were raised, and the cuffs attached to lengths of chain that hung from the ceiling. Cursing his unusual inattention, he saw Quatre was being similarly handled, except that instead of being chained near the wall, he was chained spread-eagled in the center of the room.   
  
Glaring at their captors, Heero watched as five of the six creatures left the little room. Taking in his surroundings, the brunette wasn't really surprised to find that the room was lit only with lanterns of some sort, and that there was dried blood encrusting the cobbles of the floor. Whips, canes, knives, metal poles, a braiser with red hot coals in it were some of the things that Heero could see, and he knew that he didn't want to know what was in the various boxes on the single table that stood behind and to the left of his friend.   
  
Sadistic grin on its face, the creature began to remove its armor before pulling on an open fronted robe that had probably been brown at one point, but was now a sickly red-black color. Silently, it grabbed a long dagger and placed it in the collar of Quatre's dress shirt.   
  
"You are going to tell us where the fifth is," he stated quietly. "But don't feel you have to do it right away; I'd be rather disappointed if I couldn't play with you for a while first."  
  
Heero watched his friend tense, eyes wide with fear; they had no answers to give.  
  
"What, not speaking?" asked the creature. "Good." With that he jerked the knife downwards cutting the thin fabric. Heero heard Quatre gasp, and felt a light burn down the center of his chest where the knife scored his friend's skin. The brunette had no idea why he could feel this phantom pain, but it had to be worse for Quatre. The same procedure was used on the back of the shirt, leaving it to hang in pieces from the blond's shoulders.   
  
Both Heero and Quatre winced as the knife was used in the same way with Quatre's pants, thankfully with the side seams rather than the front and back ones. A growing sense of fear filled the room and caused the creature to grin, as Quatre tried not to tremble. Heero's eyes widened as he watched their captor reached for the bullwhip on the wall. The crack of it caused Quatre to flinch, though it didn't actually touch him. His eyes met Heero's, and he could tell that his friend was terrified.  
  
The whip snapped nearby several times without actually making contact so when it did both captives were caught off guard. They both hissed in pain, flinching as the whip cracked in the air again. Heero began to pull helplessly against his bonds. He couldn't allow this to happen - not to Quatre. The whip made contact again.  
  
Heero struggled desperately against his restraints, feeling the metal cuffs digging into his skin. Blood trickled down his arms, but he didn't care; he had to get free, to stop them. He hissed in pain as the whip landed with a crack, leaving a burning trail across his back. There was no blood, though there should have been, as the lash fell, again and again. He felt pain, hot lines across his legs, buttocks, back and shoulders, but his blood didn't spill.  
  
Quatre's did.   
  
The whip snapped again and Heero heard Quatre scream in agony, blood dripping from his naked body. Heero increased his struggles, knowing somehow he was to blame. They should be torturing him, not Quatre. Neither knew what the creatures wanted, but Quatre shouldn't be the one who was hurt. He could feel Quatre's fear - he didn't know why, but he could feel it. Fear, dispair, determination, the emotions chased around in his mind as the lash marks traced along his nerves. He didn't understand it, but it had to stop.  
  
The whip wielding creature, blood-spattered now, threw its weapon down and drew a finger along the bloody welts on Quatre's back as Heero watched helplessly. Locking eyes with the dark-haired man, he licked the blood off, then licked its lips.   
  
"The smell and taste of blood are so. . . stimulating. . . don't you think?" it asked, licking its lips again. Quatre's eyes snapped open and he renewed his struggles frantically. It was useless though, as he was chained, arms above his head, and legs spread wide in the center of the room. Heero was hit with the sharp tang of the blond's terror, as was the bloodied creature, judging by the look of sadistic glee on its features. It's laugh sent shivers down Heero's back, and caused Quatre to whimper and tremble. Watching the gray-skinned torturer begin to toss the last of its clothing aside, Heero realized the implications of the word stimulating.  
  
Something inside of him snapped.  
  
Rage burned through his mind, along his veins. "No more," he said. "NO MORE!" He pulled his arms downward, ignoring his own pain and blood as his body protested. He felt the strain on his wrists, felt the bones beginning to give under the pressure. He didn't care. He was going to stop that sadistic bastard. He glared at it, wanting to crush the life out of it for doing this, for the meaningless torture, for making him want to kill again.   
  
He felt his right wrist snap as he wrenched the chain out of the wall. He didn't care. He imagined that he could feel the creature's heart beating in its chest. He wanted to crush that heart, his hand closing into a fist to mimic his thoughts.  
  
The creature staggered backwards clutching its chest then it gave a wailing scream before collapsing to the bloody floor. Heero ripped his other arm free, wrist snapping like the first, as the door to the torture chamber slammed open.   
  
Reaching out blindly, Heero could see a faint glow surrounding each guard from outside. It pulsated with life, radiating out from each heart. Snarling mindlessly the Japanese man lashed out, crushing the source of each glow. His own heart spasmed painfully with each scream but he ignored it, and soon there were five more bodies on the floor while he gasped painfully for breath.   
  
Going over to the discarded robe for the keys, he retrieved them and carefully unlocked Quatre's ankles and wrists, cradling the bleeding boy against his chest, fiery pain burning through his wrists. Quatre whimpered, and Heero tried to avoid hurting him even more as he lowered his friend to the ground. He could feel Quatre's wounds on his own body and concentrated on making him more comfortable. A feeling of warmth started in his hands, and he felt it spread to the trembling body of his friend, as it had earlier in their cages. He wanted the bleeding to stop, the wounds to close. There was a sudden rush of heat from somewhere inside him, and he gasped dizzily as the pain from his legs to shoulders vanished, leaving behind the simple tenderness of a recently healed injury.   
  
Slumping to a heap on the floor, Heero watched in exhausted confusion as Quatre gaped at him. The blond looked at the backs of his legs, still blood covered, but bearing nothing more than the pinked lines of fresh scar tissue.   
  
"Heero?" he asked. "What. . .?"  
  
Looking at his friend, he opened his mouth to speak, only to feel the last of his strength give out as the blackness of unconsciousness engulfed him.  
  
* * *   
  
Quatre grabbed Heero as he collapsed onto the blood-covered floor in a heap. He checked quickly for a pulse and found it throbbing in a steady rhythm. Frowning in relief and confusion, he took the key from Heero's limp fingers and undid the cuffs from his wrists. Looking at the broken links where the chains had been attached and shook his head in disbelief. He had no idea how Heero had managed to break the links. All he could remember was the overwhelming sense of lust from his torturer then, cutting through his own panic came a rage so extreme he trembled slightly at the memory. That must have been Heero - how else could he have broken the chains, he thought.   
  
Moving carefully, he checked his friend's wrists to see the seriousness of the breaks the boy must have received. He felt the bones of Heero's right wrist shift slightly as he examined it, causing Heero to whimper softly. Definitely broken. Checking the other wrist he paused in confusion. It wasn't broken. Fractured perhaps, but not shattered like the first. Taking hold of the right wrist again he gasped in astonishment.   
  
The bones were whole.  
  
Shaking his head in bewilderment, he looked down at the discarded metal cuffs then back at Heero's wrists. The boy in question moaned slightly and opened his eyes.   
  
"Heero, you're awake," Quatre said, helping his friend to sit up. Prussian eyes blinked at him, and Quatre could Feel the disorientation and confusion coming off him in waves. "We have to get out of here before more of those things come back," he said, trying not to think about what would happen if they were caught.  
  
"The blood you. . ."  
  
"I'm fine Heero," he interrupted as a wash of guilt battered his mind and heart. "You healed me,"  
  
His friend blinked in surprise, and Quatre hesitated, then turned so that his bloody back was visable. He shivered at the feather-light touch, and closed his eyes. He knew that Heero wouldn't hurt him, but it was too soon.   
  
"You don't hurt anymore," he said in awe. "But you're afraid, I can tell."  
  
Quatre blinked in surprise, suppressing the feeling. "How?" he blurted.  
  
Heero looked down and shrugged. "I don't know. It's gone now."  
  
The blond opened his mouth to question his friend more, but thought better of it. "We have to get out of here," he said instead.  
  
Nodding silently, Heero pushed himself to his feet and Quatre did the same, blushing as he suddenly remembered his state of undress. It seemed silly to be embarrassed by his nakedness considering what had just happened, but he couldn't help it.   
  
Looking over, he saw that Heero was bending over one of the dead creatures, examining the armor and tunic it wore. Quatre could Feel the chaos of emotions coiled up inside his friend with guilt and self-hate, and rage battling near the surface. He looked at the six dead creatures for a moment, before he realized what was missing.  
  
"What happened to them?" he asked, memory understandably patchy.  
  
Rage and guilt sparked and were suppressed as Heero clenched his fists. "I did," he whispered. "Somehow I killed them - stopped their hearts." Despair crept into his voice, twisting in Quatre's heart as he heard it. He didn't know how Heero could have killed them, but then, he also didn't know how Heero had healed him. There was probably a connection, but he didn't want to think about it right now - they had to get out of here before more of those creatures came back.  
  
A terrified shudder ran through his body and he clenched his fists trying to regain control. There was a soft gasp nearby, and he found himself suddenly enveloped in Heero's arms, a soothing murmur reaching his ears. Relaxing into the embrace he felt the fear leaving him again. A part of his mind wondered at the changes in his friend, but the rest of him simply absorbed the comfort offered.  
  
After a moment, he felt the arms loosen, and he stepped back. "Let's get out of here," he said softly. Heero nodded and pulled the breastplate off of one soldier and removed the tunic, handing it over. Quatre put it on quickly, wincing as it stuck to the blood drying on his back. Ignoring the thought he also pulled on the trousers that Heero handed to him.   
  
He watched as Heero did the same, removing his bloodstained clothing and putting on the tunic and trousers of another soldier. Quatre expected Heero to pick up one of the narrow sabers, then cursed himself for expecting that. For some reason he can't kill anymore, he thought, staring at one of the swords. Well, if he can't, I'll have to.   
  
With that thought firmly in mind, the blond unbuckled the swordbelt from one of the bodies and strapped it around his own waist. The blade was heavier than what he was accustomed to, but he'd used this type of blade before.  
  
A Feeling of revulsion then resolve came from Heero, and Quatre saw him take a sword and strap it around his waist. He opened his mouth to protest, but shut it again at Heero's expression.   
  
"You shouldn't have to kill," was the soft response.   
  
Quatre blinked, a bit startled by Heero's protectiveness, but nodded. I have the feeling that you're the one who shouldn't have to kill, he mused. It's time that I started protecting you. With that thought the two crept out of the cell, trying to find a way to freedom.  
  
TBC  



End file.
